


Pray

by aries_taurus



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: 100th episode, 5.07 tag, Aftermath of Torture, Episode Tag, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2583632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aries_taurus/pseuds/aries_taurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. He just hopes that once the sun comes up, once the dust settles, once the drugs clear and the bruises and cuts and other hurts heal, Steve, the man will be okay.</p><p>For that, he can only pray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pray

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god, I have no words on how good this ep was, how much I love it. AOL was AMAZING. The whole thing was AMAZING.
> 
> I just have no words.
> 
> This is unbeta'd. I just needed to get it out there, pure bromance H/C post ep.

 

* * *

 

 

His heart stops the moment the door opens and he sees the motionless form on the floor, bare chest and tattooed arm utterly recognizable.

He’s so glad that Steve moves the moment he touches him that he wants to cry. The feeling’s replaced by skyrocketing worry when Steve asks to see his dad, when he breaks down, when Danny sees the state of his chest, hears the rawness of his voice.

They get him out and throughout, Steve says nothing. Danny knows it takes all his energy to stay standing. He doesn’t protest the ambulance, just sits on the gurney, shivering and shaking.

Danny doesn’t let go of him.

Not in the ambulance, not in the ER, not through the exam and Steve’s quiet tale of horrendous torture.

Drugs. Gas. Waterboarding. Electric shocks. Mind tricks. Fights. Hits. He stops listening but he never lets go of Steve.

Wo Fat’s dead, finally, and he’s glad, because if he wasn’t, he’d have to leave Steve to go kill the bastard. As it is, he’s having trouble staying still and not going over to the morgue and killing the piece of shit over again.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been but Steve’s sleeping, covered in bandages, an IV taped to his arm under a cloak of foam because the last two times, he woke up screaming and tore the IV’s out. He can’t make himself move, can’t leave, because no matter what Steve’s been through before, he isn’t getting through this one as easy.

He’s dehydrated, electrolytes fucked up, drugs still making him hallucinate on and off until they clear out of his system. There’s a couple cracked ribs, a few loose teeth. A bad concussion from a bullet graze on his skull Danny refuses to think about, another graze on his arm and a lot of hits, bruises and contusions and hematomas, too many to count, risk of pneumonia from the waterboarding nonwhitstanding.

“Four years. Feels like… five minutes.”

The croaked words are barely understandable, yet Danny can hear the anguish and sorrow in them. Back in that room, Steve had needed to pull himself together, to walk out of there on his own feet, just to say “I survived.”

Right now, Danny knows (at least imagines), the grief is crushing.

“I know babe. It’s okay,” he says quietly.

Maybe that’s what Steve needed to hear, permission to let go. He turns on his side, facing away from Danny, and cries, soul wrenching sobs that hurt to hear.

 

* * *

 

 

Long minutes pass and Danny doesn’t move, lets the tears flow, lets the sorrow run its course. He knows if he gets up and touches Steve’s shoulder, like he wants to do, Steve’ll pull himself together, say he’s all right, cut it short, bottle it up, lock it down tight.

Somehow, Danny knows, it’s not what Steve needs. He knows Danny’s there and for now it’s enough.

Right up until the sobs turn in to coughs.

Danny gets up and moves to the bed, rubs his back and whispers soothing things but the cough turns into harsh hacking and eventually leads to forceful retching.

There’s nothing in Steve’s stomach to bring up but a glob of blood-tinted mucus. An alarm blares and a nurse runs in and Steve panics a little, fear twisting his face. He fights and flails until Danny soothes him, putting the oxygen mask in his hand instead of over his face, taking the nurse’s hand from Steve’s wrist, his hand from her neck.

The poor nurse apologises and Danny soothes her too, tears burning his own eyes.

Steve’s relaxing under his hand, exhausted and brittle and weak and broken and Danny wants to scream. Instead, he sits on the edge of Steve’s bed, rubbing his good arm, the one without a graze, singing just under his breath, something he sang to Grace years and years ago.

“You shot Hesse,” Steve murmurs, minutes, maybe hours later.

He looks at his battered partner, frowning at the slit-thin gaze looking back over the oxygen mask.

“Are you still hallucinating?”

Steve shakes his head slowly. “Was. I did. You. Back there. When I was. You… saved my dad. We.. went to…”

Steve pauses, clears his throat, hacks out a few painful coughs and settles. “Went to the hospital with you to interrogate him. You shot out…. Both his knees. Get him to talk.”

Danny can’t help it. He chuckles and out right laughs. “So your brain turned me into you? Is that it?”

“Wishful thinking. That you’d… saved my dad.”

“I’m sorry buddy. You don’t know how much I wish I’d gotten there five minutes faster,” he says, thinking back on that day. He never told Steve he was first on scene, that he was the one to find John McGarrett with his brain splattered all over his den.

Steve doesn’t say anything, but his face crumbles again. “God… ‘m a mess…”

“It’s the drugs, babe. Give it time. And till then, just… don’t hold back. I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“So what else did you dream about?” Danny asks after a while. He knows Steve’s not sleeping, that instead, he’s losing himself in his head again. Maybe talking is the way to go and talk is one thing Danny can do.

“Chin was captain.”

“Oh? Really?”

“And… You were… happily married. To… Rachel.”

“Now I know you were trippin’, pal.”

“And… Jerry was… homeless… Kamekona… jail king.”

Danny chuckles again. “Wow. That’s an imagination you got there, I gotta say. I bet I loved the beach too.”

“Yeah. You even spoke pidgin.”

Danny snorts.

“You were happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Danny doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. He just hopes that once the sun comes up, once the dust settles, once the drugs clear and the bruises and cuts and other hurts heal, Steve, the man will be okay.

For that, he can only pray.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I know there will be a million of these tags and I want to read them all so write yours and comment on mine!!!!!!


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